


What Crowley Wants

by crookedashes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley cries, M/M, OC plays Cupid, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), idk how else to tag this plz tell me, they are both dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedashes/pseuds/crookedashes
Summary: Aziraphale wants to give Crowley what he wants most. It goes a bit sideways.





	What Crowley Wants

**Author's Note:**

> I did not edit this, and it probably shows. Go easy on me please.

Aziraphale lit the last candle, turning sharply to make sure that all the bookshop curtains behind him were actually closed. Not that he actually thought he had somehow managed to leave one open, but it didn’t hurt to check one last time.

Aziraphale’s holy mouth fell open, incantations falling from it as he walked slowly around the circle, counter-clockwise. His hands clasped together behind his back, and he watched the intricate circle he’d drawn on the floor carefully to see if it lit up. He wasn’t sure it would work.

This circle was filled to the brim with repeating pentagrams and a strange symbol similar to one he recognized from before the fall. He was trying to summon a demon who had once been his friend, although they were no longer friends and that wasn’t even what Aziraphale was contacting her for. He had a very different purpose in mind.

As he spoke the last word in his incantation, the lines began to glow. They began to glow a pentagram at a time, flickering on like some sort of old sign one might see in a movie. At last, the final pentagram—the big one in the middle—lit, and a crackle of electricity rushed through the room and down Aziraphale’s spine. The plump angel stilled, watching the summoning circle in complete silence.

A demon stood in the center of the circle, delicate yet strong metal shackles chained around her wrists. The shackles were attached to two of the candles Aziraphale had set precisely for that purpose. Her face was opened into a wide snarl reminiscent of some sort of bug, possibly a June Bug. Tangled, braided iridescent hair cascaded down her back, and she wore both a dark green leather jacket and tattered skinny jeans. It appeared that a hole, dark and unknown, was permanently open on her left cheek, almost looking like a leaf spot.

“Who dares to chain the great demon, mistress of hell?” Her voice boomed throughout the bookshop, menacing and snarling. Aziraphale did hope that no one outside could hear her—he didn’t want to get any noise complaints from neighboring shops.

“Listen, Miniel,” Aziraphale said, putting out both of his hands in a placating manner, “I need a favor.”

The demon laughed and she put away her completely inhuman face for one slightly less horrifying. “Aziraphale, you should know that’s not my name anymore. You summoned me with my real name.”

“Ah,” the book collector responded, “old habits die hard, I suppose. Regardless, I need a favor. It should not be difficult for you, just a quick question.”

“What is it?” Miniel said, looking over the blond angel skeptically. “Haven’t called me for six thousand years, and now—“

“I need to know what the demon Crowley wants most,” Aziraphale interrupted, looking over his shoulder nervously. The longer he stayed here talking to this demon, the more likely it was that Crowley would decide to just pop over without a call, as he usually did. Aziraphale couldn’t have that, not while Miniel was still here. Or the demon who used to be Miniel, anyway.

“Why?” Miniel scoffed. “I know you two are . . . intimate, so why don’t you just ask him?”

“It’s—that’s—“ Aziraphale stammered. “That’s not your business. Just tell me what I’ve asked for, please.”

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale,” Miniel said, folding her arms over her chest. “And especially since I could get in trouble for helping an angel, I think I deserve to know why you want to know. I don’t have to give out information without my consent anymore, in case you weren’t aware.”

“Fine, fine!” Aziraphale pursed his lips, his hand gripping the other as he looked away. “It’s the anniversary of when we saved the world, and I want to do something he likes. Please, Miniel. Help me, for old time’s sake?”

“Oh.” Miniel took a step forward, her heavenly chains clinking as she did so. She pointed at Aziraphale’s chest, a smirk cropping up on her face. “He doesn’t know you love him _like that?_ I see how it is, now.”

“Miniel,” Aziraphale pleaded, feeling his cheeks grow uncomfortably hot. “It’s not like that—we’re friends, that’s all. I just want to do something nice for him, to show him how much he means to me.”

“Don’t you know what he likes by now?” Miniel asked, giving him a look that told Aziraphale that she knew exactly what he felt for Crowley. It was to be expected of the former angel that more-or-less played Cupid. Or who was supposed to, anyway. She fell before she had the chance. “You’ve known him for six thousand years, after all.”

“Yes, yes, I know what he likes,” Aziraphale snapped, somehow becoming even more impatient than he had been before. “But I want to know what he wants _most._ I want this to be special.”

“What’s so different about this one in particular?” Miniel questioned, blinking with wide black eyes. “Is stopping Armageddon really that monumental for you two in particular? It’s going to happen again, you know.”

“I would appreciate it if we could stay on topic, Miniel,” Aziraphale remarked with a little bit of a sniff. “I called you for a reason.”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” the demon proclaimed, gesturing toward him. Her chains jingled, and she put her hand on her hip, pushing it out almost as though she were trying to seduce Aziraphale. The principality knew better, however, because she knew that just any demon wouldn’t do for Aziraphale. Since 1941, or perhaps even before, only Crowley would do for the angel. Not any human. Not any angel. Not any other demon. Just Crowley, but he couldn’t ruin his friendship just to be selfish. That was against his nature as an angel.

“You’re paying attention, right?” Miniel continued. “You’re making a deal with a demon, you probably want to pay attention.”

“I am, I am,” Aziraphale insisted. He knew that Miniel wouldn’t try to trick him—while she didn’t fall because of association, like Crowley did, Aziraphale was well aware that Miniel fell only because she wanted to be more under her own control.

“I’ll help you give the demon Crowley what he wants,” Miniel said, her eyes glowing a smoldering red as demons’ did when they made deals, “but, you must do it, no matter what.”

“What does that mean? Of course I’ll to do whatever Crowley wants most,” Aziraphale protested. “I—“

“Love him?” Miniel finished. “Yes, but what I’m saying is that you’ll have no control over it. I’ll be guiding you when you give him what he wants most.”

“I—“ Aziraphale stammered, hesitating for just a moment. He suddenly did not have a very good feeling about chatting again with his old acquaintance. She was a demon, after all, even if she was not as evil as most.

“Will you accept these terms?” If it was possible, the demon’s eyes glowed even brighter.

“I—I do,” Aziraphale uttered, not feeling unsure of himself or of what Crowley might want but feeling unsure of Miniel. After all, she _was_ a demon now. A hellish sound emanated from Miniel’s open maw. The angel winced as his ears burned from the sound, and he suddenly felt very hot, as if he were standing just next to the pit of hell. That hadn’t been a pleasant experience, he remembered vaguely as Miniel’s shriek continued. The building itself seemed to shake, making Aziraphale stumble a little as he tried to keep his balance.

“It is done,” Miniel hissed, her voice separated into two tones, one high and one low. Her glowing red eyes faded to the usual black, and she smiled, picking at her terribly bitten nails.

“Now that I’ve made your deal, please tell me what Crowley wants,” Aziraphale asked, and Miniel wagged her finger.

“You’ll be going to Crowley’s flat in an hour, be ready,” she said. “I’ll take it from there.”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale questioned. “We made a deal!”

“You’ll know what Crowley wants most,” Miniel said. “In an hour. Now, go get ready!”

She vanished in a puff of smoke and hellfire, which Aziraphale obviously leapt back from.

Because Aziraphale had very little he had to do to ‘get ready’ as Miniel put it, he spent almost the entire next hour pondering what Crowley could possibly want. He could infer from Miniel’s actions that it was an action which Crowley desired most, but Aziraphale couldn’t possibly think of something he could do for Crowley which Crowley could not do better himself. He paced back and forth in his bookshop, dimly lit still only by one or two of the candles still lit on the summoning circle—or what used to be the summoning circle. It had burned away when Miniel had gone.

“Ready to go?” asked Miniel, and Aziraphale jumped, spinning around in an attempt to find the demon. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t find where her voice was coming from—she wasn’t behind that bookshelf, or on top of the counter, or in the entrance to the back room.

“I’m in your head,” she revealed.

“Wait, you’re possessing me?” Aziraphale squeaked. “We might explode!”

“No!” Miniel replied, and although Aziraphale couldn’t see her, he could feel that wherever she was, she was rolling her eyes. “I’m just projecting my voice into your head.”

“Well, how do you plan to control me if you’re not actually here?”

“I thought you didn’t want me actually there!”

“Not if you’re going to discorporate me, or worse!”

“Calm down, I’m not actually going to be possessing you,” Miniel replied. “I’m going to curse you.”

“What?” Aziraphale squawked. “No, no, no—in the first place, I’m sure it’s not actually possible for a demon to curse an—“

“Angel?” the demon replied, sounding far too smug for Aziraphale’s liking. “Oh, but I already have.”

“For heaven’s sake, who?”

“I cursed Michael to trip over nothing once a day.”

“And it actually worked?”

Aziraphale tried to think of all the times he’d ever seen Michael, the flow of which thankfully had lessened since the Apocalypse-That-Never-Happened. Compared to most angels, who typically had fantastic innate balance on account of their wings, he seemed to remember Michael falling down a lot. And stumbling a lot. And almost cursing a lot.

“I can tell that you know it’s true,” Miniel said in a sing-song voice.

“B-but curse me?” Aziraphale stammered. “How long will it last?”

“Only as long as it takes for you to give Crowley what he wants the most. Once that happens, you can say goodbye to me and the curse.”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale said after a moment, after coming to the conclusion that it was, in fact, worth it. He’d do anything for Crowley; it didn’t matter what it was.

Miniel chuckled. “You have no choice in the matter at this point, Aziraphale. You already made your deal with me.”

“Let’s go see my dear Crowley, then.”

Twenty minutes later, after a quick swing by a florist’s place for a red tulip at Miniel’s command, Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley’s flat. The door was right there, right in front of him, and the bell was right next to it, but he couldn’t seem to press it. His feet fidgeted a bit as he looked back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

“Open it!” Miniel hissed. “Or I’ll do it for you!”

“But what if he thinks I’m trying to . . . court him and he—“ Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “What if he doesn’t like it?”

A sharp pang ran through the angel’s chest. That was why he’d been so careful since Armageddon’t, even though at times he almost thought Crowley might reciprocate his feelings. Other times, he felt like the demon drew away because he could sense that Aziraphale’s love for him wasn’t strictly platonic. And Aziraphale wasn’t stupid—he’d been around long enough to know that red tulips meant ‘perfect love.’ Would Crowley see through all this—the flower, the visit, the anniversary, Aziraphale trying to do something special—and come to resent him for it? For the romantic thoughts he hadn’t been able to shove away for a very long time? The thought alone was almost too much for the poor angel to bear.

“Oh for Satan’s sake,” Miniel growled, “we’re starting this now.”

“Wait—“

The next moment, he heard three hissing words that might not have been words at all. They sounded like words, but not in any sort of language he knew, and he prided himself on being a polyglot. His body froze as if he’d been dunked in a tank of liquid nitrogen, then his body relaxed more than he usually did.

“Ah,” Miniel murmured as Aziraphale’s arm stretched forward, finger extended, and pressed the doorbell. He could hear it going off inside the house, and when he tried to open his mouth to complain to his former friend, he found it to be utterly impossible. No small amount of panic flooded him, and he tried to move other parts of his body. He could not.

He couldn’t take in a deep breath physically, but he could mentally, and that still seemed to help the poor angel calm down a little. Even if losing control of himself was a little (okay, a lot) unnerving, he was doing this for Crowley. His dear, precious Crowley.

The Crowley that was coming to the door just now.

“Who the heaven—oh, angel, it’s you,” Crowley remarked as the door opened and his vaguely menacing snarl turned into a rather pleased smile. He leaned back a bit from when he’d opened the door, allowing room for Aziraphale to come in, and he gestured to show the other he was welcome in.

Aziraphale’s body took a step forward, encroaching on Crowley’s personal space instead of walking through the door. His arm presented the tulip, shoving it fairly close to his face. If Aziraphale could say something to Miniel at that moment, he would have said, “that’s too close!”

“This is for you, my dear,” Aziraphale’s mouth said, though to his ears it sounded a lot more mechanical than it usually did.

“You’re lucky, Aziraphale,” Miniel murmured, and through the tone of her voice Aziraphale could tell that she was concentrating very hard on something. “It’s difficult to get a cursed puppet to talk.”

Crowley’s sunglasses slipped down his nose a little, revealing wide, surprised yellow eyes. His hand came up to meet Aziraphale’s, and just the small touch sent electricity thrilling up Aziraphale’s arm. That was why he tried to never touch Crowley; it was always intensely difficult for him to stop.

Crowley gently pried the tulip from Aziraphale’s hand, and took a small step back with some sort of expression on his face that Aziraphale couldn’t read at all. He feared the worst, of course.

He would have told Miniel, “What are you doing? He doesn’t like that!”

“Relax, Aziraphale,” Miniel said, apparently just reading the angel’s thoughts now. “I know exactly what he wants, remember? You’re going to give it to him.”

Crowley walked back into his flat, manifesting scissors and cutting the stem of the tulip at a 45 degree angle. He dropped the scissors, which promptly disappeared back to wherever they had come from, and the manifested a simple glass vase. He set the tulip next to his other plants, slender fingers tracing up the stem and then ghosting over the petals before he leaned down to the flower. He hissed something Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out, but then his body was crossing the room. It was going much faster than he usually moved.

“It wouldn’t dare not grow roots,” Crowley said, a little satisfied as the tulip gave a little tremble. He turned to look at the angel, and Aziraphale’s hands slipped around Crowley’s waist.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s mouth mumbled with almost the same, mechanical pace that it had before. It sounded too much like the syllables were separated, not enough like an actual name. Crowley leaned away just a little bit from the angel, just enough to reach up and take his sunglasses off.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice was soft, almost trembling. Before he’d taken off his glasses, Aziraphale would have pegged him as afraid, but once he took them off, Aziraphale could clearly see one single thing shining in Crowley’s eyes, stronger than the fear that shone deep in the depths of his eyes.

It was desire.

Aziraphale surged forward, letting his lips brush against Crowley’s first. He opened his eyes, his blue looking at the yellow of the man he held in his arms. Aziraphale couldn’t stop his plump fingers from stroking along Crowley’s waist, curling under the leather of his demon’s jacket.

“A-angel,” Crowley stammered, looking a bit nervous even as his fingers fisted in Aziraphale’s coat and he pulled Aziraphale just up to him again. Waiting for the angel to make his next move.

It didn’t take very long. Within the next couple of moments, Aziraphale pressed forward again, a little harder this time. He moved his lips against Crowley’s pleasantly cool ones. As he did so, he tentatively pressed a tongue against the demon’s bottom lip. After all, this must be what the demon wanted most, and what Aziraphale wanted most was to give Crowley what he wanted. At least, that’s what he wanted to tell himself—really it was what Aziraphale wanted.

When Aziraphale nipped at Crowley’s lip, the demon let out a moan that was all at once too much and something Aziraphale couldn’t get enough of. The sound washed over the angel’s ears, and he took advantage of Crowley’s parted lips to slip his tongue inside. He couldn’t stop; it must have been Miniel’s control. A strange thrill of jealousy ran through him at the thought, that _his_ demon was also being watched by someone other than him. He was just checking boxes on all the little sins today, wasn’t he? But he couldn’t imagine that loving Crowley could ever be a sin. It just wasn’t.

Little red patches cropped up on Crowley’s neck and what little of his chest Aziraphale could see, and Aziraphale could feel his body heating up even through the layer of fabric still separating them. Crowley’s hands relaxed, and moved from holding the angel’s collar to wrapping around his neck. His fingers trembled against Aziraphale’s back, and the angel felt another shock of electricity go down his spine as Crowley’s forked tongue stroked both sides of his tongue at once. He moaned at the same time the slender demon did.

Aziraphale moved one of his hands away from Crowley’s waist and up into the demon’s fiery hair, wrapping it in as much hair as he could before giving the hair a gentle, almost experimental tug. Crowley spluttered a little into their kisses and his arms tightened around Aziraphale. Aziraphale stilled his hand, but kept it tangled in the demon’s hair as he pressed himself against the slender being. Crowley pulled back from the kiss, his cheeks pink and his eyes somewhat glazed, like a donut you might see in a discount pastry shop.

“Angel,” he panted. “Aziraphale, I—“

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale tugged gently at his hair again, and his knees went weak. The terrible, definitely terrifying demon collapsed onto Aziraphale, only supported by the angel’s arm around his waist, which was soon joined by the other one.

Aziraphale hoisted Crowley up against him, one arm around the waist, the other around his skinny-jean-clad thighs. Aziraphale seemed to vaguely remember that the demon had gotten some sort of commendation for skinny jeans—was it lust or pride?

“Let’s find you somewhere to sit down, hm?” Aziraphale hummed into Crowley’s ear and felt the shudder that ran through the demon. “Living room? Kitchen?—“ his voice grew low—“Bedroom?”

The white-haired angel took the liberty of running his tongue over the shell of Crowley’s ear, and nails dug into Aziraphale’s back. Hot breath ran all the way through his coat and made heat roll all the way through his gut.

“Bedroom—bedroom, now,” Crowley demanded into the angel’s neck, his voice breaking and creaking and Aziraphale was a little surprised he’d been able to articulate anything at all, to be honest. The angel hoped that they’d just gotten started—but Crowley was already completely wrecked. Despite the less . . . obvious reactions, Aziraphale knew that he was wrecked too. He could feel his emotions running high, crackling just under his skin like electricity.

Aziraphale carried Crowley through a hallway, and into the bedroom. There were no windows or any way for light to get inside the room, and the only possible source of light was a tiny lamp on the bedside table. Aziraphale had only been in this room once before, when Crowley wasn’t answering the phone and he really wanted to go for lunch.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and a trio of candles appeared on each bedside table. Soft light filled the room, illuminating the unmade bed with black sheets and a black and gray bedspread. Ah, that was his lazy snake—but it didn’t matter whether the bed was made or not, they were going to need to wash the sheets after this anyway.

“Azir—“ Crowley managed, as Aziraphale laid his demon down onto the bed and began working those tight jeans off his hips. He’d miracle them away, only he felt this was special, important to do like the humans do. Crowley’s fingertips dug into Aziraphale’s shoulders and his hips bucked up enough for Aziraphale to yank the jeans down around his ankles.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, pressing a feather-light kiss to Crowley’s angular hipbone. He skillfully maneuvered the jeans off of the ankles they surely always got caught around. A whine rose from the skinny demon’s throat as Aziraphale sucked a mark into the soft flesh just above the bone.

“Angel, please,” Crowley hissed as Aziraphale’s kisses got closer and closer to his cock, but didn’t quite touch it yet. The demon’s fingers knotted in the sheets around him, and his hips bucked. Aziraphale pinned his hips to the mattress, though he allowed the demon to spread his pale legs and scoot himself to the edge of the mattress. His lips curled into a pleasant smile as he looked up, seeing Crowley’s tussled hair, blotchy red skin, and parted lips panting as he tried to stay still.

“Beautiful,” he said and blew a hot breath up Crowley’s cock. Crowley’s toes curled and a whine escaped his throat, head thrown back as Aziraphale slowly lowered his mouth onto the redhead. The angel hollowed out his cheeks, sucking with more and more pressure as he bobbed his head slowly up and down.

Suddenly, he felt a slightly shaky hand brush against his cheek with all of the force of a silk scarf, and he looked up. An expression ineffably complex adorned Crowley’s gorgeous face, but Aziraphale could sense a sort of great sadness hiding among the demon’s features. He pulled off Crowley’s dick with an audible, wet pop, and rested his arms on Crowley’s thighs, pinning him to the bed.

“What’s wrong, dear boy?” His voice was scratchy from his previous actions, so he had to focus more to get the words out. The result was that the words sounded more mechanical than he would’ve liked. Crowley broke out into a smile, a slightly awkward one that Aziraphale could tell he would try to use to deflect the question.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” the demon assured the angel, but he didn’t sound entirely convincing. “I’m just close to coming, that’s all. I’d rather have you inside me when I come.”

Hearing his demon—and he _was_ his demon now, Aziraphale could feel it in his bones and everywhere else—speak those words sent a jolt of electricity straight down his spine and into his groin. A grunt escaped his throat as he stood up, and he looked down. His own cock was straining against his trousers, and Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. Any trace of the sadness Crowley had shown had disappeared, and he fluttered his eyelashes in an alluring way. With another small thrill of jealousy running through him, Aziraphale wondered where he’d learned that.

A small growl escaped his throat as Aziraphale snapped and both of their shirts (and in Aziraphale’s case, the jacket, the undershirt, and the waistcoat as well) disappeared. Aziraphale leaned down over his Crowley, and his lips brushed over the joint of his neck and shoulder before he opened his mouth and bit down, hard. His fingers traced up slightly pronounced ribs, and as Crowley gasped and pressed up against him, Aziraphale made a mental note to get the other to eat just a bit more.

Finally, Aziraphale released his hold on Crowley, and brought his mouth up to the shell of his ear. He noted, as he ran his fingers over where he’d just bitten, that the mark was a bit deep. It would leave a lovely bruise for quite some time.

“Turn over,” the angel demanded. A visible shudder ran through Crowley’s body, and he scrambled to do as he was told. He grunted as his arms collapsed, unable to hold his weight, and he pitched forward, his chest brushing the bed and his ass up in the air. Crowley began to try to get up, but Aziraphale placed a calm hand on his waist, keeping the demon still.

“This is perfect,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

“Shut up,” Crowley moaned, but Aziraphale could see his ears and neck flushing in pleasure as the angel stroked along his waist and over his skinny ass and thighs. His skin almost matched his hair.

“I won’t,” Aziraphale insisted, coming close to Crowley and breathing the words over his hole. Another shudder worked its way through the demon’s body, and a small whine left his body as if he couldn’t hold it in. He was still clutching at the sheets, big handfuls caught in his hands with his sinfully long fingers. The hands didn’t pull away from the sheets, dragging down and pulling the dark fabric with them, until Aziraphale pressed his tongue across Crowley’s hole flatly and firmly.

Crowley squealed, and if there had been another person in the room she would have said he sounded rather like a hog, but to Aziraphale’s ears there was no music sweeter. His toes curled and his legs twitched so hard that if the angel hadn’t already been holding him down, he probably would have slipped off the bed and onto the floor.

“Angel,” he growled, his body pressing back like he was afraid Aziraphale would leave off it, “you don’t have to—you don’t have to do that.”

Aziraphale hummed as he ran his tongue around Crowley’s rim. His thumbs pulled Crowley apart further, so he had better access, and he blew another hot breath over his hole.

“But what if I want to? Do you dislike it?”

“No,” Crowley mumbled into the bedspread, barely audible. A strangled sound pulled out of his throat when Aziraphale gripped his ass cheeks harder.

“No, what?” Aziraphale teased, purposefully keeping his lips and tongue just close enough to Crowley that the demon would be able to feel their heat. When the demon instinctively pressed back, he backed away just enough to keep the same distance. He didn’t quite know where this instinct had come from, the instinct to tease his demon. But as he heard another soft ‘please’ leave his demon’s lips, he knew that he almost wanted to keep doing it forever. Almost. He would do it, but he felt his own hardness pressing against his trousers almost painfully. He wanted Crowley, badly. But if he could get in a little teasing before he fucked him within an inch of his life, so much the better.

Aziraphale opened him up slowly, taking his time and relishing in the sounds, the sights. He licked and prodded as if Crowley were a particularly delectable dish that Aziraphale had to take his time with. Anything else would be sacrilege.

“Angel, I’m going to discorporate if you don’t fuck me right now,” Crowley panted, twisting to look back at the angel. A drop of sweat rolled from his temple down to his jaw, and he irritably jerked his head as a clump of fiery hair fell into his eyes. His eyes, speaking of which, had lost any trace of humanity, the whites disappeared into yellow and the normally-slitted pupils were blown wide with want. His legs shook—his whole body shook, really, and the glint of Crowley’s teeth which were now just slightly too long and sharp to be human caused another jolt of heat to hit into Aziraphale’s groin. The angel licked inside one more time before squeezing the demon’s bony hips, and then he kissed the base of Crowley’s spine, his lips pressing feather-soft onto his tailbone.

“As you wish,” Aziraphale murmured, though he would rather have spent an afternoon—an entire day, even—on that particular activity. He supposed they had all the time in the world now, though, so he acquiesced to his demon’s desires. His hands shook just a bit as he undid his trousers and stepped out of them. Then he climbed onto the bed, the bedsprings creaking just ever so slightly as it adjusted to his weight. He hesitated for just a moment, fingers sliding across Crowley’s ass. “Are you quite sure, my dear?”

“Yes,” Crowley very nearly whined out, pushing his rear back so that Aziraphale pressed his fingers into the demon’s hips. “Please, angel. Please.”

Aziraphale took himself in hand, lined himself up, and pressed into his demon. A sharp hiss escaped Crowley as his fingers flexed and tried to grip the sheets. His hips bucked, and Aziraphale stilled, worried that he might have hurt his everything. Then Crowley pressed back against him, sliding Aziraphale further inside him, and Aziraphale let out a sigh as sheer pleasure overwhelmed him. He bent over Crowley’s form, reaching around him as he slid slowly in and out, and grabbing onto his lanky body. He let one of his hands trail down to his cock, taking it in hand and stroking up gently in time with his thrusts. Crowley let out a choking sort of moan when he did that, the sound striking down into Aziraphale’s core like lightning. He wanted to have his Crowley make that sound again, and again, and again. His sweet sounds were better than any chorus the entire host of heaven could make, the sight of his body, flushed and taut with pleasure, better than the streets of gold or the tree of life. The feel of him, hot and wanting in his grasp, was superior to even feeling the grace of the Almighty.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale growled in the demon’s ear, and Crowley’s entire body shuddered, his cock jerking sharply in Aziraphale’s grasp.

“A-angel,” Crowley panted back. “I’m ssssssso closssssse.”

“Let it go, dear,” Aziraphale groaned, thrusting hard down into him and brushing against that little bundle of nerves. Crowley gasped, then howled, and his entire body seized up. His limbs jerked and his eyes rolled back and his back arched so far that Aziraphale felt the need to grab against his ribs and gently, ever so gently, bring their bodies back together. Aziraphale stroked up his length one more time, feeling the shudder through Crowley’s entire body, then pulled out and released him. The angel flipped his demon onto his back while strategically avoiding the wet spot on the sheets, kissing gently on his jaw.

“Guh, uh,” Crowley tried, face blushing bright red as he realized that what he’d said had not been words at all. His hands trembled as he framed Aziraphale’s face with them. His eyes were half-lidded, body lax, and he looked like he was a snake on its favorite sunning rock. But then—oh, but then—a flash of sorrow crossed over his face, but was gone before Aziraphale could even register the dropping of his stomach.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. A laugh bubbled up out of Crowley, a genuine one.

“A bit more than ‘alright,’” he replied.

“What do you want me to do now?” Aziraphale questioned, his voice soft as he kissed the inside of one of Crowley’s wrists. It didn’t matter to him that he hadn’t finished yet; he wanted this, their first time, to be exactly what Crowley wanted. Because that was what he wanted.

“Again,” Crowley murmured, looking up at Aziraphale with an expression that could only be described as the fondest. A thrill ran down Aziraphale’s spine as he attacked Crowley’s neck with new fervor, heat bubbling up inside him once again. He trailed his hands up and down Crowley’s sides, relishing in the feel of his flushed skin as he kneed Crowley’s legs apart and seated himself in between them. Crowley groaned as Aziraphale sucked particularly hard at the base of his neck, leaving what he hoped would turn into another wonderful bruise to remind his demon of what they’d done.

“Do you need another minute,” Aziraphale murmured as he began stroking along the demon’s hip bones, “for the refractory period?”

Crowley shook his head, eyes squeezed tight. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, dragging him down until their lips met again. When he pulled his lips away, he yanked Aziraphale down into something that resembled a hug. Warm affection surged in Aziraphale, and he ran his fingers through the bright red hair next to his face. He murmured soothing words, reaching down to caress every part of Crowley he could reach. The sound Crowley released next made him freeze.

A sob broke free of Crowley’s throat, and Aziraphale jerked back—or tried to, Crowley’s arms around his neck were suddenly like iron bars, trapping the angel against his chest so that he couldn’t see his face.

“Crowley—“ He was about to ask what was wrong when Crowley interrupted him.

“Keep going, angel, p-please,” Crowley hiccuped, and the slight feeling of alarm that Aziraphale had felt exploded into an almost panic. Immediately he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s back, squeezing him comfortingly and in a way that despite the circumstances could not even be misconstrued as sexual.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Aziraphale asked quietly, settling into the hug easily despite his arousal. Crowley’s comfort would always be paramount to him.

“I just—I—“ he stammered, and he sobbed again. The sound shattered Aziraphale’s heart.

“Take your time,” Aziraphale murmured, just holding him. Crowley took in a few stuttering, shuddering breaths, then tried again.

“I don’t want you to leave me after this,” he managed, stopping and starting and stopping again as he spoke. He sniffed in, then immediately broke into another round of sobs. Aziraphale’s stomach dropped.

“What on Earth do you mean?”

“You’re—you’re only doing this because I want to, right?”

Aziraphale spluttered, completely unable to respond for several moments. Crowley continued.

“And if you’re only doing this for me—” he let out several sobs amongst his words—“then you have no—no reason to stay near me. I—I—I can’t have that angel; I couldn’t handle it. Don’t ignore me, please.”

“Who the fuck—“ Aziraphale nigh-snarled, so high were his emotions running—“gave you the impression that I don’t want this—want you—more than anything?”

“I can tell when Sagitta is using a curse-puppet, Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned, removing one of the iron-bar arms from Aziraphale’s neck. Still, the angel didn’t move. “I’ve seen her work before.”

“My dear—“

“Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t her, Aziraphale—that you aren’t her, right now,” Crowley blurted, getting close to blubbering territory again. “Satan, I shouldn’t have let you do this. Having sex with a demon? You’ll never want to see me again.”

Pain struck at Aziraphale’s heart, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then a knock sounded at Crowley’s bedroom door. Crowley let out one more sob before releasing Aziraphale and snapping, both of their clothes reappearing on their bodies. His sunglasses covered his eyes, though Aziraphale could still see the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Crowley grabbed onto his wrists as the angel tried to wipe them away.

“Come in, Sagitta,” Crowley growled, trying his best to sound like a thunderous lion. He ended up sounding more like a house cat.

Miniel’s corporation—which looked just as grotesque as her spirit form, something she was rather proud of—strolled through the door, looking between the pair of them before sighing.

“I should have warned you, Aziraphale,” Miniel said, as close to apologetic as a normal demon could get, “that Crowley was very afraid of . . . y’know.”

“I think I do know,” Aziraphale quipped, looking at her almost sharply. He supposed he couldn’t be too angry with her. After all, all of everything was coming out now because of her. And a wound had to be aired out before it could begin healing.

“You knew that Sagitta was using you?” Crowley asked, looking at Aziraphale. Even with his glasses on, Aziraphale could tell he was distressed by this realization. His voice cracked, shattered into pieces. “Why would you let her do that?”

“I just—“

“Let me speak,” Miniel rumbled, her voice losing any sort of human edge and coming across the ear like a thousand beetles flying by. “I’d rather not be here right now—I could get reprimanded for this, you know.”

“I know,” Crowley said quietly, ever so quietly, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from inching his hand toward where Crowley sat, now quite a distance away from him. He suddenly decided that he didn’t like that distance.

“Aziraphale, you are an idiot,” Miniel rumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was a surprisingly human gesture. “I should have just told you what he wanted.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“You were supposed to _confess_, you dumbass,” she hissed. “Not kiss him! And certainly not—“

She didn’t finish that thought; while demons were known to inspire lust, generally the only kind of lust they felt was related to bloodlust or lust in the sense of greed. Crowley was simply cut from a different cloth.

“That _was_ a confession!” Aziraphale blurted at the same time as Crowley hissed, “That was _him_?”

“Oh, you’re so dumb,” Miniel griped, striding forward and grabbing hold of Aziraphale’s collar, then yanking him up toward her. Had Aziraphale looked behind himself, he would have seen an absolutely deadly-looking Crowley—in other words, terrifying and stunningly beautiful. But Aziraphale did not have the opportunity to look behind him, unfortunately. “Get this sorted out, with those words I’ve heard you’re so fond of.” She released him, and he bounced back onto the bed, feeling his hand brush against Crowley’s thigh as he did. “Crowley, after I grabbed you, it was all him. I let go as soon as I _thought_ he would do what you wanted. I’m out.”

She melted into the floor like a shadow, and then angel and demon were left alone, all the silence in the world between them.

“You . . . did all that yourself?” Crowley asked, voice shaking again. He still hadn’t taken off his sunglasses, but he turned his face away from Aziraphale, as if he were afraid that the angel would tell him that Miniel had lied. “Why?”

“Well, yes, I did,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat and shifting so that he was facing his demon—or not his demon, not yet. Apparently they still had to get that bit sorted out. “Because I love you above all else, you wily serpent. You could get a commendation for that, I suppose. Stealing an angel’s heart.”

Aziraphale’s nervous chuckle was the only thing that was heard in that room for several seconds. After those few, Aziraphale began to get even more nervous, wringing his hands a bit.

“Oh, don’t be angry with me, please, Crowley, I couldn’t bear that—”

“I’m—I’m not angry,” the demon mumbled. “I just, it’s just that I was so _happy_ that you wanted me but then I noticed it was _Sagitta_ and not _you _and it was like being doused in cold water. It was like ‘hey, the only way he’ll love you is if he’s not in control of himself.’”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching out and running his hand over Crowley’s shoulder. “No, absolutely not. I’ve loved you since you saved me in that church.”

“I’ve loved you since the bloody beginning,” Crowley blurted, freezing up at Aziraphale’s touch. “And I was always _terrified_ you’d find out and I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, stroking up to Crowley’s neck, feeling his pulse. His heart was beating like a drum even though it didn’t need to beat at all. Crowley kept his face away from Aziraphale, though he did not back away at the touch. The demon sniffed.

“Not your fault,” he responded immediately.

“I could have handled certain . . . matters better,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And I should have just explained my feelings. I should have—“

“You don’t need to bother with all that self-flagellation now, angel,” Crowley said, finally turning to face Aziraphale. He still didn’t remove his sunglasses, but oh how Aziraphale wished that he would. He wanted to see his demon’s gorgeous eyes. “You do love me, though?”

“I do,” Aziraphale asserted, looking straight at Crowley’s sunglasses in a subconscious effort to make eye contact. Crowley reached up and removed Aziraphale’s hand from his neck, holding onto it gently as it were something that could shatter at the slightest mishandling.

“So, what now?” the demon asked of the angel. His body was lax again in comparison to just a few minutes earlier. He sagged and somehow, Aziraphale knew that it was relief that caused him to fold in on himself like he did.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asked, like he should have from the beginning.

“You,” Crowley responded, a hint of a blush creeping up toward his flaming hair.

“What a coincidence,” Aziraphale teased as he leaned over and kissed Crowley’s cheek. “I want you, too.”


End file.
